


Something Sweet

by Demmora



Category: Dishonored, Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, and pancakes, breakfast at the hounds pit pub, fic request, happy feels, pure fluff, rat dad and cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily is being difficult and Callista turns to Corvo for help. Breakfast ensues.</p><p>This is pure fluff for anon on tumblr, who wanted something fluffy and sweet for rat dad and cinnamon roll <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Sweet

It’s getting close to noon now, and Callista doesn’t know what to do anymore. So it’s with no small reluctance that she finds herself outside Corvo’s closed door, hand poised to knock, guilt making her falter several times before she winds up the courage to finally rap her knuckles on the paint chipped wood.

“Corvo? Are you awake?” she knocks again, a little harder.  “I’m sorry to do this, I know you haven’t slept much but Emily is refusing to eat and I don’t know what to do. She just keeps asking for you.”

Callista jumps with fright when the door opens, her hand coming to her throat in surprise. She hadn’t heard any movement from behind the door, so to have it suddenly flung open and have a bed-headed Corvo squinting at her from behind red rimmed eyes is more than a little alarming.

“She won’t eat?”

Callista shakes her head, “She wouldn’t eat dinner last night either when she found out you were gone. I’ve tried playing with her and even threatened to take her crayons away but…” she falters, giving him a helpless little shrug. It’s hard to deny Emily her small joys, the child has been through so much that any form of punishment seems unnecessarily cruel. “She either just sits and sulks or cries hard enough to make herself sick. I don’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t she come up here?” he asks, voice raspy, harsh with sleep as he turns away, pulling his boots on over bare feet and only bothering to half tie the laces. He can’t have been home long she realizes, and from the look of him he’s probably slept in his clothes. Her eyes widen a second later when he pulls the loose fitting undershirt up and over his shoulders, revealing a lithe and scarred physique, the muscles in his back moving fluidly as he pulls another clean one on. It’s only a moment but it’s enough to leave Callista breathless and forget he asked her a question. When he turns, one eyebrow raised at her. Callista shakes herself.

“We thought it best to let you sleep…”

There’s a cracked mirror fixed to the wall which she’s never noticed before and Corvo is leaning over it, squinting at himself with a one eyed stare. It’d be humorous if he wasn’t so clearly exhausted.

“In future just let her come.” he replies, raking hands through his unruly hair and pulling it up into something resembling a neat tie, keeping it out of his face which he scrubs over with weary hands. “She’s used to having me nearer than this.”

Callista knows the rumors of course, everyone does, even if they’re either too polite or afraid to say it. But their tower is pretty close to Corvo’s room. The idea that they should move any closer makes Callista’s hair stand on end. Not even the noble children she’d acted as governess too had been so close to their parents. But then she supposed that’s why they’d needed a governess.

“Where is she?” he asks, following her out the door and down the creaking stairs.

“I left her sitting with Cecelia…she seems to like her…”

“She likes kind people.” Corvo supplies, sounding more awake with every step, though his boots thud wearily on the wood in a way that is surprising. He’s normally so self contained and quiet that anything louder than a whisper seems out of place.

To their surprise they find Martin leaning over the booth, his tall frame slouched against the back of the seat in a casual manner that goes against his Overseer uniform, hands draped near enough Cecelia’s head for the woman to be blushing at the close proximity to one of her supposed betters. He’s smiling, face kind and eyes expressive as he apparently imparts something funny, and Callista finds herself relieved to hear Emily laugh, however shakily.

“Ah, Corvo,” the priest greets him, causing a jolt of movement from within the booth as Emily no doubt tries to climb up over the table, “And the lovely Callista. We were just talking about where Morley sausage comes from. Aren’t we ladies?”

Cecelia gives a little nod, glancing up at Martin when his fingers brush against her neck in such an innocent way Callista wonders if it wasn’t deliberate. The poor girl is such a bright shade of red you could bottle it, paint the walls and call it a Fugue Feast, but she doesn’t look like she wants to escape either.

“I think he’s lying.” Emily’s voice pipes up, finally emerging from the booth and reaching out to Corvo with grabby hands. “He says it’s a real animal.”

“It is,” Martin insists, “It’s short and round and has two legs shorter than the other so it can run up and down mountains quickly.”

“He’s teasing me.” Emily accuses as the adults chuckle at the bad joke, burying herself against Corvo’s neck as he takes her weight against his hip and hoists her up. “Corvo make him stop talking silly.”

“I’m not sure we have enough duct tape in the world but I can try.” the Lord Protector replies, flashing Martin a crooked grin as the priest manages to look indignant but amused at the same time. It’s no secret that Marin has a smart mouth and strange sense of humor, and Corvo has more than once accused him of liking the sound of his own voice, which Martin rejoined that someone had to talk over meals else wise they’d sit in silence with only Corvo for company. 

And it’s strange, so strange to think of this little family dynamic they are forging in this run down seedy pub. All for the sake of the little girl now all but collapsed in the arms of the man everyone suspects to be her father. She’s worn down from crying and hunger, and Corvo is all but bouncing her, as though she is a much smaller child.

“Now,” Corvo starts, and everyone, even Martin, jumps at the severity of the tone. “What’s this I hear about you making everyone worried, hmm?”

“Corvo,” Callista begins, but falters when he shoots her a look over the top of Emily’s head.

The pout Emily presents him with is impressive, and Callista knows in his shoes she would have given in instantly, but Corvo merely raises an eyebrow at her, and Emily drops her head back to his shoulder. “I feel sick.”

“I’m not surprised, you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“I don’t _want_ oatmeal.” It comes out in a sulk, her tiny fingers playing with the ties of Corvo’s shirt, “It makes me feel sick.”

“No it doesn’t,” Corvo replies patiently, hoisting her a little bit higher, forcing her to look at him, “You used to have it all the time for breakfast, what’s this about?”

“It’s all _they’d_ give me to eat.”

The words drop into the silence of the pub like a dead weight, and Callista see’s her wince mimicked by the sympathy in Martin’s face. Cecelia just looks at the table, the color draining from her plain face. Corvo for his part looks frozen, his smile fixed in place as his eyes seem suddenly too distant. And it’s not for the first time Callista wonders how this man, who has all the right in the world to rage and tear the city apart, doesn’t. He simply doesn’t. Instead he walks through the bones of the city like a ghost and comes out smelling of…well not quite roses. But it’s not blood either.  

“Right.” he says, turning round to face Callista, a slightly manic smile on his face as he seems to be grounding himself by staring at her. “Okay then. Cecelia?”

The younger woman nearly jumps out of her seat, forcing Martin back in a hurry or risk being head butted in the chin. “Yes, Corvo?”

“Come with me, and you,” he turns his attention to Emily, leaning in to rub her nose with his own in a Tyvian kiss which makes the girl giggle as he drops her back into the booth, “Stay with Callista and Martin.”

“But—”

“Emily.” his tone is a warning, and Callista watches in wonderment as the girl sinks meekly down into her chair across from Martin who has claimed Cecelia’s spot. “Tell Martin your Strictures, you’ll need to recite them at your coronation.”

“ _Fine.”_ It comes out in pure exasperation, and Callista can’t help but smile at the way Corvo winces. As though he knows that trick of his won’t last much beyond teenage years.

Scooting down into booth beside Emily, Callista listens to Emily recite the Seven Strictures, pausing only to ask Martin questions which are surprisingly astute. The conversation ends quickly however when Emily asks, “What’s wanton flesh?” and both adults hurry to change the subject simultaneously, as across the room, Corvo, having returned from the store with Cecelia in tow, gives a harsh little laugh.

Through her embarrassment, Callista tries to see what they’re doing. There seems to be much cracking of eggs and Cecelia is whisking them together in a bowl with a fork, while Corvo focuses on lighting the stove. She doesn’t know how they got into the stores, but she suspects Wallace and Lydia might have a collective fit when they find out, judging from how much flour is being used.

By the time a Corvo returns, serving plate in hand, Emily has made several drawings for both adults to color, and is chastising Martin for not being able to stay within the lines.

“Story of my life I’m afraid,” he remarks to Callista, who merely smiles and shakes her head. She winces a moment later when Emily gives a happy loud shriek, all but bouncing out of her chair.

“ _Filloas_!”

“What is a filloa,” Martin begins, then sees the giant heaped plate Corvo puts down in the middle of the table “Oh, griddle cake.”

“Pancakes,” Cecelia supplies, staggering over with an arm full of plates and cutlery. “That’s what we call them here.”

Callista doesn’t say what she knows them by. _Peasant bread_ sounds so mean, but that’s what it is. Merchants used to sell the cheap sweat bread discs down by the docks, either soaked in syrup in the winter or with fresh fruits in the summer. It’s simple easy fare eaten by people with not much money and a lot of simple ingredients. And Emily is all but dancing in her chair.

“They’re called _filloas_ in Serkonos.” she says primly, pronouncing the foreign word with a perfect little lilt.  “And  they’re my favorite. Samuel! Samuel come eat with us!”

The boatman, having just entered in the back door of the pub, wiping his hands on some greasy rag, jumps at the sound of his name, then falters to find so many eyes turning on him. “Uh...”

“Corvo made...what did you call it Cecelia? Pan cakes.”

Obligingly he steps toward their crowded table, where to everyone’s surprise Emily is dishing out food, like they are at a tea party and she is their generous hostess. Both Cecelia and Samuel are convinced to sit eventually, both looking awkward but neither wanting to upset Emily. Callista isn’t sure what makes her want to giggle more, the sight of Martin accepting a plate from the little Empress, a slightly lost look on his face, or the way Samuel looks from the flat cakes to Corvo, one shaggy eyebrow raising in disbelief. And it is hard to believe, she supposes, and if she hadn’t sat in the room and watched him do it, Callista might not believe it herself either. Corvo Attano, Lord Protector and one of the most skilled and deadliest men in all the Empire, has made them breakfast. And pancakes at that.

Corvo for his part has slid into the booth next to Martin, and is reaching across the table, trying to help Emily cut her meal up.

“No, here use the...fork, or y’know, smother it honey and pick it up with your hands, that works too.”

And Emily just grins at him, mouth full, in a most unladylike manner. But Callista finds she does not care. She’s eaten more in the last five minutes than she has all week and Callista finds she is so relieved she almost wants to cry. She also finds the pancakes are rather good, something which everyone at the table agrees upon, complimenting and thanking Corvo, who nods and waves it away, all the while slowly but surely sliding down by degrees until his head is almost on the table, coffee cup cradled between both hands like mana from the cosmos.

The smile that cracks over his face when Emily reaches out to pet his head is crooked but genuine. And just for a little moment in all the chaos, there’s something sweet.


End file.
